APH UsUk Valentine
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: Established relationship between UsUk. Also the side pairing of France and Estonia cause I totally ship these two together. Deal with it. XD England shows up on Valentine's Day to bitch at France about America. The nations then have a deep conversation about love. First published on Deviant art. All mistakes are my own.


FOR THE LOVE OF PASTA, READ THE DAMN WARNING!  
IT IS THERE FOR A REASON…..

Warning: Some of these stories(not all) in the coming chapters will contain Yaoi, some of which may be hardcore. Yaoi is boy x boy love, man meat on man meat, all wieners-no buns. If you are not into that, do not read or complain. You have been fairly warned.

This story and Axis Powers Hetalia depicts people and persons as the direct personification of that nation/country, so if this concept bothers you, this might not be the right story for you, especially if you are unable to mentally grasp that these nations are centuries years old despite their outward appearance.

All people, persons, nations, and whatever represented in these stories are of legal age. No minors of any kind are depicted in these stories by the author, personal perception(s) of the reader(s) aside.

It boils down to this-  
IF YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. IT'S THAT FREAKING SIMPLE!

"FACEPALM"…FOR THE LOVE OF DOITSU AND BEER…..

I have nothing against any characters/states/nations of Hetalia. I understand that everyone has their favorite characters/pairing. I know I do. If you don't like how a character(s) is portrayed, please don't be a hater about it. If you think the writing is shit(I don't know what you expect-it already states I'm a hack on my profile), then write your own damn story about the nations. It is a lot easier to critic that create. Please keep that in mind. And once again-

IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ! NOT A HARD CONCEPT!

APH Always Mine-Valentine

Francis, the self proclaimed nation of love, was putting the last few finishing touches on his date de l'amour. Candlelit dinner for two with a stunning backdrop of Paris complete with clear night sky studded with brilliant stars for mood lighting? Check! A five star gourmet meal ready to be served at a whim's notice with chocolate dipped strawberries infused with sweet liqueur for sensual dessert? Check! Chilled bottles of the finest French champagne, ready to be opened and served in long stem crystal glasses? Check! A heated bath scented with lavender and vanilla, the steaming purified water swirling with sparkling gold flake and adorned with floating candles? Check! A bed of roses prepared along with some interesting 'toys' for later….or sooner, depending on how the night went? Check!

Francis flipped his long silky hair over his shoulder as he gracefully rose to answer the door. His sweet Eduard was nothing if not punctual. The Frenchman did one final once over in the mirror, blowing his reflection a kiss back in appreciation. Snapping his fingers impatiently, Francis summoned all his little birds, all named Pierre oddly enough, to fly about him, following him with a back drop of painted silk and flowers. Francis nodded his head in approval as he put the long stemmed rose in-between his perfect teeth and gave his vital region's rose a final tweak in place as well. Flinging open the door, Francis leaned seductively against the door frame, his back arched exquisitely, his golden hair sexily messy, leaning forward ever so slightly, eyes close, moist lips parted for his welcome kiss.

"Jesus bleeding wept, put some trousers on, you damn frog!

Francis's eyes snapped open to find a very irate Englishman glaring back at him angrily in his doorway instead of the expected Estonian that should have been there. Holding onto the frame, Francis peered out over the fuming Brit in search of him. "I don't supposed Angleterre, you passed sweet Eduard on the way up did you?", Francis ventured, still naked and very disappointed. Arthur rolled his eyes as he pushed past the dismayed Frenchman, shooing the birds out of his way irritably. "Please come in. I obviously wasn't busy.", Francis said sardonically as he watched Arthur rummage through his cabinets obviously in search of something. He found it with a triumphant noise, proceeding to take a long pull from the bottle of cognac he had unearthed. Francis could tell by the layer of dust on the bottle it was one of the rarer vintages. He cringed noticeable as its was chugged. "May I ask Angleterre why you have suddenly felt the need to barge in on the most romantic day of the year and even worse, abuse a hundred year old cognac like it was some of your wretched gin? Because as you can see I am expecting company, real company of the invited kind.", Francis sighed, watching Arthur moved from his spot on the floor to claim comfortable possession of his couch. "Not if he is coming by plane, he's not.", Arthur replied offhand. "Pourquoi? What are you talking about?", Francis ventured, dismissing the birds finally, the effect sorely wasted on his current 'company'. "You nob. Don't you check your own strike schedules? The flights have been cancelled. I heard it on the telly a while ago.", Arthur muttered, picking at some fluff on his sweater vest as he nursed on the bottle. "If that is true, how did you get here?", Francis snapped back, looking for his laptop now. "Are you drunk already or just that incredibly stupid? I obviously took the tunnel.", Arthur answered snidely. Francis confirmed(much to his annoyance)that the Englishman was right and even worse, discovered an email from Eduard, informing him to check his text messages more often, also mentioning that he would be coming tomorrow by train instead. Francis deflated considerably, wandering into his dressing room to put on some pants at least.

He returned, reasonably clothed, to find out that Arthur had acquired himself several more bottles of alcohol and seemed hell bent on finishing them all in record time. "Merde.", he muttered, not looking forward to dealing with the other nation wasted. He was already a morose bastard right now, and it was only going to get worse. "Angleterre, why are you here? Why are you not with your dear Amerique?", Francis asked, plopping down on the couch next to his fellow nation. Arthur's face instantly clouded up in an enraged, sullen expression. "Don't talk to me about him.", he hissed through clenched teeth. "And there we have it, ladies and gentleman.", Francis thought, staring back at the seething figure. He sighed ruefully, carding his hair with long fingers. "For the love of all that is good and holy, quit swilling my exquisite aged cognac like it is your own god awful rum. I will get us something more appropriate to drink.", Francis relented, knowing he was not going to rid of Arthur in his present state of mind any time soon.

The pair sat for a long time, drinking and smoking, as they talked about many things. They were both old nations, two of the remaining ancients that had seen the rise and fall of other countries in their long lifetimes and had fought in so many different wars, often against each other. Now they lounged and argued over vague concepts, using words instead of weapons. Francis, being who and what he was, eventually turned the topic of conversation to his life's obsession and currently Arthur's bane.

"It is not a hard question, no? Just tell me what you think of love.", Francis asked his sloshed companion who glared balefully back at him, looking mad enough to spit at the mere mention of that particular word. He had been trying to avoid talking about what was really on his mind all night, but Francis was relentless as well as one hell of a noisy bastard. The Frenchman waited patiently, staring the other down with a look on his face that said he was not letting the question go any time soon. Arthur sighed tiredly, his smoldering glare still fixed firmly in place. "What is love, frog? Love is a razorblade.", he snapped, punctuating the validity of his statement with the flick of a lighter and a puff of blue gray smoke. Francis chuckled darkly at the odd response, gesturing eloquently with long graceful fingers to expand on the topic. "Try not to look so shocked.", Arthur said dryly to the Frenchman's obvious mirth. "Coming from you, how could I expect anything less, mon ami?", Francis cooed back sweetly, leaning over to stroke at an alcohol reddened cheek. His hand was batted away almost casually, the reaction more out of habit that anything else.

"Love is acid.", Arthur muttered into his drink. "I see that we are making some progress. I thought you just said it was a razorblade.", Francis chided, sipping at his own wine. "Do you want a bloody answer or not, you gob shite?" Arthur snapped, jumping up to sway awkwardly in place. "My apology. Please continue.", Francis smiled back, unperturbed by the outburst. The other nation fell back on the couch to curl up with one of the pillows into a tight ball.

"Love is pain. Love is quiet murder wrapped in rose petals, drenched in blood.", Arthur said quietly, his voice muffled slightly by the tortured cushion. "How morbidly English.", Francis sighed sadly, lamenting the other's view. "Belt up! Now you may argue with me that love is patient, love is kind, love is pure….", Arthur started, sitting up with some labored effort. "And I would.", Francis interjected. "Oi, shut it! Pure! Well, so is hatred. Hatred is pure. Keep that well in mind, wine bastard. Where was I? Back to my original point…..love is a razorblade that cuts to the wick of the heart with a surgeon's grace and skill.", Arthur surmised, managing somehow to find his drink and point again. "And the other?", Francis prompted. "Huh?…..oh, right…..Love is acid. It burns every nerve, every sense, and scars permanently. Love is pain….cunning pain, wrapped up into three little words. Those damnible words that can bind you so tightly, almost to the point of suffocation…..those terrible words that cut….that torture…that can kill.", England ranted, gesturing widely and messily with his drink. Francis winced at the growing number of stains on his couch, raising a sleek eyebrow at his counterpart's words.

"Only you would say that the most beautiful of all words in any language- 'I love you- is a curse.", Francis teased, leaning in on his elbows with a wide grin. He was met with a cold grimace. "'I love you' is a cheap trick, used by selfish, soulless men who only want to see you cry, see you beg, see you bleed, before any of their own precious needs. Just as long as they end any excuse or argument with 'I love you', it's alright….it's fine. It was your fault, not theirs. You should have done better….done more. You're not giving enough. It's never enough.", Arthur muttered the last part sullenly.

Francis rubbed the hair on his chin thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly to the side in thought. "Angleterre…I can't see dear Amerique saying any of that. Perhaps you are projecting a bit, no?", he observed causing Arthur to redden deeply in crimson color as he looked away moodily. "Whatever, frog. Answer your own damn question them. What is love?", Arthur spat back, his tone dripping in sarcasm as he messily poured himself another drink.

"That is easy. Love is sex.", Francis purred, posing himself dramatically up on the arm of the couch. Arthur made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes. "I am simply rigid with shock over your inevitable and obvious response. Please do go on.", he stated dryly, clearly not impressed. "I listened to yours. Now listen to mine.", Francis frowned, pouting as he resumed sitting normally. Arthur shrugged dismissively, waving his hand to continue.

"Now understand, love and sex are not the same thing, but they certainly go hand in hand, so to speak, oui?", Francis proposed, watching the wine swirl in his glass. Arthur grunted a noncommittal answer, devoting his attention to the bottle before him. "Love is a caress on sweat slick skin, the shiver of exposed flesh, and a silky wetness between the legs. It is the raw pounding rush of blood that swells in you. It makes your heart race and your crotch throb. It is sweet anticipation, teasing foreplay, and a release of your most inner self. Repeat as often as possible.", Francis said in silken tones, gesturing dramatically. Arthur huffed into his drink, knowing that the Frenchman was just getting started.

"Love is the salt taste of your lover's skin, the smell of their sweat. It is in their moans, their sighs, in their very breathing itself. It is when your neck is bit by sharp teeth and your flesh is torn by desperate fingertips, when your lover is pushed to their peak. Love is when you hear nothing but the sound of their heartbeat, see nothing but stars, but feel everything move around you. You and yours are separate from reality, secluded in your own personal pulsing pocket dimension.", Francis stated passionately, his fervor on the topic growing. "That last bit sounds a right bit manky.", Arthur interrupted bluntly. Francis glared back in response, but was not detoured entirely.

"Sex is delicious! It is whatever you want it to be-hot, cold, slow, fast, wet, dry, painful, relaxing-so many choices, so little time, not enough flesh.", Francis finished huskily, licking his lips in time to his own thoughts. He was met with a disgusted grimace, much to his own disappointment, the Englishman unmoved by his passionate speech. "Come off it already. What a complete and utter load of shit. Do you ever actually stop and listen to yourself, frog?", Arthur ranted loudly.

"May I answer your question?", said a new but very familiar voice from the doorway, surprising the other two nation greatly. The two turned to see Alfred sitting in the main entrance's doorway, his large frame hidden mostly in shadow. He looked at Arthur with bright sky blue eyes that were dulled only slightly by the sadness held in them.

"What are you doing here?! Haven't you done enough already!?", Arthur yelled, jumping up to hurl his glass at the nation. The tumbler smashed noisily into a wall near him instead of its actual target, showering the floor with shards of glass. Francis flinched for him, the American unfazed by the violent reaction as he rose slowly to walk toward them. Arthur managed to back up into the couch, falling back to a sitting positions as he clumsily tried to retreat. Alfred knelt down on the floor in front of him, placing his head on Arthur's lap and his arms around the Englishman's slender waist. Arthur growled in outrage, bracing his hands on wide shoulder to push the larger nation off of him.

"Love is hope.", Alfred said softly.

Both of the older nations blinked in surprise, the short, quiet statement cutting through any further argument. Alfred looked up so that his startling endless gaze caught the forest toned one before him. "They say time heals all wounds. They never mention the scars though do they? Just because you have stop bleeding doesn't mean you're alright.", Alfred whispered, reaching a hand upward to lightly cup Arthur's face. "Some wear their scars like badges, proud of them, drawing strength from them. Others use their scars as excuses, always trying to fall back on them.", Alfred murmured, his words causing Arthur to look away, scowling. He tried to shoved Alfred off again, only to have the other tighten his grip.

"In any case, they are reminders of past events, pleasant and others not so much. Time in its own way will heal anything. Love though…love is what cures the scars themselves. Love heals. It is the balm that soothes, no matter how awful, how terrible it is. If there is love, there is hope.", Alfred said as he rubbed calming circles into a tense back. "Hope?", Arthur said slowly, tasting the word. Alfred looked up into his face again, a sad smile gracing his lips. "Yes, hope. People take the word and meaning of hope too lightly. To value hope, to truly know what it is…you literally have to lose all else…..everything. You have to because hope is small but perfect, like a star at the bottom of the ocean. Once everything has been removed, the waters parted, it shines. It has to shine to, because when all you got left is hope, everything else is dark, deep, and fathomless. Hope becomes the seed of the soul then and love is the water and the sunshine. It is a kind word, a smile, a hand to hold. It is tears, a shoulder to cry on, a hug…..a moment. Sometimes a moment is all you need, Iggy.", Alfred said softly, leaning up to place his lips upon soft quivering ones in a chaste kiss. He drew back slightly to wipe away trails of silent tears pouring from emerald eyes.

"Don't cry. I'm sorry. Please come back home with me.", Alfred begged in soft pleading tones, laying little butterfly kisses on a hot forehead and burning cheeks. Arthur buried his face into a tanned neck as he wrapped his arms around broad shoulders. Alfred swept his lover up and with a quick nod to Francis, left with his drunken Englishman.

Francis chuckled to himself, saluting the retreating pair with his wine glass. "When did Amerique become so smart?", Francis mused aloud, wandering over to his laptop, choosing to ignore the mess in his living room for the time being. Eduard had recently taught him how to use a webcam. Francis was sure he could find something fun to do with it.


End file.
